


The Room of Requirement

by kjack89



Series: Just Another Hogwarts AU [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Even the Room of Requirement ships E/R, Hufflepuff!Grantaire, M/M, Slytherin!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts AU. In their fourth year, Enjolras and Grantaire stumble upon the Room of Requirement. Grantaire's need for Enjolras is palpable, and the Room decides to take matters into her own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Room of Requirement

**Author's Note:**

> This literally all just started as my reasoning for why I would Sort Enjolras into Slytherin. It devolved into E/R because...well, because of course it did.
> 
> Written from the Room of Requirement's POV.
> 
> Usual disclaimer for legal purposes about not owning them bladdy-blah no one reads the disclaimer anyway. All mistakes are the pure and complete fault of someone who is not me.

The first time they stumbled upon her, they had been arguing, a loud, fierce argument, but without much heat, more testing each other’s position than anything. The dark-haired boy had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his black and yellow tie loosened, robes disheveled. The blond’s hair was perfectly coifed, his robes meticulous, green and silver tie immaculate, just like the rest of his clothes.

They had paced back and forth in the corridor outside of her enough times to call forth her door, which was the only reason she noticed them at all. Then, paying no attention to where he was going, the dark-haired boy turned the handle of her door and _oh_.

She was made to respond to people’s needs; she was called the Room of Requirement for a reason. And as soon as his hand touched her door’s handle, she could feel the boy’s need in her very beams.

It was a deep, palpable longing, desire, lust and want for the blond-haired boy that stood beside him, but it was more than just want. This boy needed the other, and if her walls knew anything about it - and they had seen more than enough lovers in their time - the other boy needed him just as much.

She felt a lightness in her rafters that she had not felt in years, and with little effort she transformed her insides into something to encourage them, to try and bring them together. Fortunately or unfortunately as the case may be, her idea of what was romantic stemmed solely from what she had learned from those who had spent time within her, so she transformed herself into a Parisian café, with a single table and two chairs, a candle burning cheerfully in its center. She dimmed her lights and thought happy, loving thoughts.

The two boys walked in, still arguing, and glanced around, stopping their argument mid-sentence as they gaped at what they found in the room. “Have you seen this room before?” asked the dark-haired boy, glancing around in awe (she felt a warmth deep within herself for him).

"No," said the other, impetuously, his eyes sharp as he took in the scene before him. "Clearly we’ve wandered into the wrong room. You should pay more attention to where you’re going."

The dark-haired boy chuckled, but she could feel the twinge in his heart. “ _I_ should pay more attention? You know as well as I do that if there is a leader among us, it’s you.”

The blond scowled. “I was too busy trying to correct your incorrect assumptions,” he snapped. “Now come on, we should go.”

"You don’t want to stay awhile, enjoy the candlelight?" the dark-haired boy teased.

Rolling his eyes, the blond commanded, “Come on, Grantaire.”

The dark-haired boy - Grabnaire - sighed and turned obediently, but he cast a longing look back at the table. “Coming, Enjolras,” he mumbled, following the blond out and leaving the Room feeling suddenly emptier than usual.

It was two long weeks before they returned, accompanied by a number of other students. This time, she was more reserved, settling herself for their more basic needs, though the longing from Grantaire was just as powerful then as it had been the first time. She had to admit she was intrigued by this group of students, of friends, more so than she had in years (not since a rag-tag group of students gathered to learn defense against the dark arts, and then to fight the intruders within the castle).

They were an interesting mix - two Ravenclaws, a tall one with glasses named Combeferre, and a cheerful, if slightly paranoid boy named Joly; three Gryffindors, a laughing fighter called Bahorel, a curly-haired flirt, Courfeyrac, and his boyfriend, Jehan; and three Hufflepuffs, a hard worker who always seemed to be studying, Feuilly, a man who seemed to have the worst luck of all time, Bossuet, and of course, Grantaire.

Enjolras was the only Slytherin, though they were joined occasionally by a dark-haired Slytherin girl called Eponine, who normally showed up in conjunction with a blushing Gryffindor named Marius (though when he started showing up hand-in-hand with a girl named Cosette, Eponine tended to stop coming).

All in all, they whiled their evenings away the way most students would have, laughing and telling jokes and practicing magic far beyond what they were supposed to be doing in class (and occasionally, when time permitted, actually doing their homework). They were a group full of passion; Enjolras in particular was given to vehement speeches in favor of equal rights for all magical creatures (the rest of the group, nicknamed Les Amis, agreed with him to varying degrees, save for Grantaire, who mostly spent his evenings watching Enjolras).

The two of them still fought, often staying long after everyone else had gone in order to do so, but the Room was onto them now, and knew that their sparring held deeper levels than either would ever admit.

She also knew of the firewhiskey that Grantaire smuggled in under his robes and drank in copious quantities, and as much as she could be, she was worried for him.

And as a Room unaccustomed to being concerned for any mortal being, let alone mere students, she did the only thing she could do in this situation - she interfered.

It started small, subtle even, dimming the candles when it was just the two of them alone in the room to create the right ambiance. When Enjolras still stubbornly choose to hunch over in a chair far across the room from Grantaire, she made all the chairs besides two next to each other disappear when everyone else left. Enjolras still managed to ignore Grantaire except when bickering with him.

During the latter half of their fifth year, she gave up on chairs altogether, producing a couch that they had to share. The couch grew smaller and smaller, encouraging them to sit closer and closer together.

Their sixth year passed in much the same way, and the Room almost seemed to grow tired of trying. Though Enjolras and Grantaire at least seemed on better terms, there was still no sign of them moving forward, together.

She might have given up; humans merited so little of her attention as it was that would have been no real loss. But in the spring of their sixth year, the Gryffindor poet, Jehan, a Romantic in his own right, came in one day on his own to sit crosslegged on the floor. He didn’t appear to require anything from her so she waited, patiently, for him to make his purpose known.

After a long time he said quietly, “I know what you’ve been trying to do. And I just wanted to say…don’t give up on them now. There’s still time. And they need each other.”

In answer, a single white clover appeared, meaning simply, “I promise.”

Still, not enough time remained in their sixth year, so the Room settled to wait for their seventh and final year.

She no longer even tried to be subtle. Dozens of red roses appeared around the Room when Enjolras and Grantaire were alone. She piped quiet, romantic music into the room to set the mood. She even littered the room in hearts, ingraining them into the woodwork, curving the metalwork and masonry so they showed hearts as well.

She was determined not to give up.

But they did not make it easy on her. Grantaire’s drinking had worsened, it seemed, and he was always ready with a snarky comeback to everything Enjolras said, whereas before when Enjolras might have been simply short with Grantaire, he had turned waspish. When only the couch remained for them to sit next to each other, one was likely to stalk off rather than sit in close company with the other.

Christmas passed, then Easter, and her time was running out. Which was, of course, when Enjolras and Grantaire decided to stage one of their worst fights that year. She had only been half paying attention to their squabble - something about future plans, if she had heard correctly, with Grantaire scoffing at Enjolras’s plan to become an activist, to which Enjolras had replied that drinking could hardly be considered a full-time occupation - until it escalated, and quickly, the two boys, men now, she supposed, stood across the room yelling at each other.

“I hate you,” Grantaire yelled finally, hands clenched into fists, gripping his wand so tightly she worried he might break it. “You are a selfish asshole and I hate everything about you, and I know for a fact you hate everything about me so just go, just leave, leave me alone if you think I’m so worthless!”

She had had enough. Were she human, she would have screamed at this point; since she wasn’t, her scream took the form of the most awful wailing, as if the walls and floor were warping rapidly, the sound of a house settling over years shrunk into a single moment. Using what power she had, she forced the floor to shift, to warp, to become uneven enough to unbalance them, to send each stumbling forward into the only solid thing in their paths: each other.

They collided with each other at full force. Grantaire’s arms, raised to brace himself for inevitable impact with the floor, instead found themselves around Enjolras’s neck, and in order to balance himself, Enjolras’s hands had landed squarely on Grantaire’s hips.

For a moment they just stared at each other, lost in their sheer proximity. Then Grantaire blushed slightly and bit his lip, looking down. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just…Enj, sometimes you—”

He didn’t get to finish his statement because Enjolras surged forward to capture his lips with his own, to pull him into a gentle embrace as they kissed. Grantaire kissed him back, hard and demanding, and they matched each other perfectly.

It was everything she had ever wanted and hoped for, and so as her final act in this particular love story, she replaced the couch with a canopy bed, the perfect size for both of them, and then retreated as much as she could, to give them some privacy to discuss the things that they so desperately needed to(and to use the bed for a variety of purposes that as a nonreproducing inanimate object, she did not know anything about).

They stayed well into the night, and she felt abuzz with happiness for them, for what had been seven years in the making. As they left, hand-in-hand, Grantaire paused to rest his empty palm lightly on the Room’s wall. “Thank you,” he whispered, sincerely, before closing the door behind him, and in that moment she felt as if, were she not anchored within the walls, she would fly away on the love that filled her to the rafters, from the wood floors to the dust motes that spun in the air.

Interfering had never felt so successful.


End file.
